


The Sword and The Shield

by TheRareFereldanCatLord



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 02:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13894629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRareFereldanCatLord/pseuds/TheRareFereldanCatLord
Summary: Eden Mezzanine is one of Seattle's top paranormal investigators, and at this point, she figures she's just about seen it all--until she finds a templar, lost in Faerie, while running an otherwise-routine errand.  Even stranger is this Cullen's story about where he came from and what had happened there.  And when the local spirits begin lashing out, attacking in ways Eden's never seen before, in the name of some "Elder One", the two find themselves working together to get to the bottom of it, while also trying to find a way to get Cullen back to Thedas--preferablybeforehis lyrium runs out.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, I started writing this mainly so I could figure out Eden's world for some original fiction someday. It's a slightly alternate modern fantasy version of our world. Faeries, elves, wereanimals, ghosts, and spirits exist here, and the general public (mundanes) know about them, live with them, work beside them, and occasionally even love them. I wasn't getting very far with it until Eden looked up at me and said, "You've been in that fanfiction group on FB for a while; put me in a fanfic, if you can't think of anything else." And so I started playing around with this. I can't promise regular updates because I am a very slow writer, but I do plan on writing this until it's done, however long that takes. This is my first attempt at fanfiction, because I've always been very nervous about playing with someone else's characters, hence the slower speed. Please be gentle <3

**_Prologue_ **   
  
_ 'Theatre ghosts are always the worst,' _ Eden mused as she made her way down to the deep corners of the Underground section of the Market at Pike.  Few mortals knew the way here; she had gained entry by helping the right fae at the right times. She still preferred to come here sparingly. Though this was a good place to stock up on rarer and more powerful items, it was always a risky venture, even for mortals who knew how to find The Way down this deep.  Thankfully, she didn't need to replenish often. The paths were even more changeable, here. Being able to spot one's Way, especially for extended periods, was a skill that required great focus.   
  
She knew the vendor she was searching for:  Vendis was good, reliable, always had powerful enchantments, though it was best not to always ask how he came by their knowledge.  He was particularly good with Trappings, Sealings, and Bindings, and she'd needed a true, full-on Binding for this Theatre Ghost; it was the third time she'd been called to deal with the creature, and each previously attempted Sealing had only made it angrier.  She'd used a Binding Box of Maroth to finally be rid of the stubborn wraith the night before, and had the theatre owners and the cast and crew who had been harassed by it aid her in disposing of the box by fire. Now that she'd had the chance to rest and eat a bit, she was buying another.  That was a hard lesson a witch only needed to learn once: don't wait until it's too late. Not on doing a working, not on buying supplies, not on anything.   
  
So here she was, not waiting.

 

While faeries often came to the Surface, especially in less-developed areas, their true realm was fully beneath the surface, and referred to as Underground, or simply Faerie.  In many ways, it reflected the state of the mortal realm above; here, directly underneath downtown Seattle, it was a cavernous city with storefronts and homes made of local soil, stones, and tree roots, which descended, huge and thick, from above, far too large and living to be attached to any tree on the Surface that Eden had seen.  Directly underneath the Market at Pike, there was one main path, comfortably wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side, with a steep ravine to Eden’s right. Most of the natural colors were greens, browns, and greys--healthy, fertile soil, tree roots, stones, mosses, and lichens. Inviting lights twinkled on both sides of the ravine, mostly in shades of gold, but every color of the rainbow dotted the subterranean hills, illuminating windows and doorways.  Eden’s Path had never led her to any of the doors on the right, across the ravine, and she had always figured those were more personal residences than places of business, and left it at that. Exploring for curiosity's sake was often what got mortals into trouble in Faerie.

 

The storefronts to her left were varied.  Most of the doors were large enough to admit humans; some were smaller, from child-sized to mouse-sized, and a rare few were much larger, ten feet or more tall.  All of them were strange shapes. Some were perfect circles, some were pointed at the top, some leaned to one side or another, and the colors were as varied as the lights, but all were unique.  Some of the storefronts had helpful signs hanging in front of them, but most mortal shoppers who ended up in this part of the Market knew where they were going and what they needed, so they were mostly unnecessary--or possibly traps for the unwary.  She steeled her focus and watched as a dim blue light hazed the edges of her vision and illuminated the path before her, leading to her destination.

 

Vendis’ store was one of Eden’s favorites, visually: it was made of an enormous boulder, which had been hollowed out into various chambers, and was nestled in the roots of an impossibly large tree.  Spaces for windows and a door were carved into the sides of the stone; the roots wrapped around the windows, creating frames, and wove together to form the door itself. During business hours, the windows were lit from within with a cheery, inviting, golden glow--though she found herself wondering how much of that was by design, and how much of that was based on the proprietor’s feelings towards her.  She knew Vendis' door well, and since Vendis knew Eden, it warmed to her touch, anchoring her the way wood knew mortals benefited from this deep into Faerie. Trees were some of the only living beings which truly existed in both the Underground realm of the Fae and the surface world of mortals at the same time. They brought grounding energy from the surface to help keep mortals focused in Faerie, and likewise brought the raw, magical energy of the Underground to the surface to energize the Fae.  She took a deep breath, reveling in the sudden feeling of digging her toes into soft, warm soil as the sun warmed her face. A memory of a breeze blew at her from behind, lending a pleasant bite to the cozy sunshine. For a few moments, despite being Gods-only-knew how deep beneath the surface in boots and jeans, Eden was outside, barefoot, and carefree.

 

She sighed, leaning her head against the door for a few moments to thank it, knocked thrice before entering, to accept the anchoring and politely announce herself, and pushed the door open as Vendis emerged from the back.  He would have been small, for a human, only a little over four feet tall, and was largely grey all over. Black eyes glittered like chips of obsidian beneath a heavy brow. Moss and lichen created the impression of hair and a small beard.  His face cracked in a smile that was as warm as granite, yet still welcoming. "Eden Mezzanine," he declared, his voice rumbling. "Welcome back to my shop. What did you use this time?"   
  
"A Binding Box of Maroth," Eden replied, watching the small creature shuffle to the Boxes to grab her a new one.  Vendis was her most frequent stop, this deep Underground, even if she didn't need anything from him. He enjoyed talking shop with her, especially hearing of her exploits utilizing his enchantments.  "Another damn Theatre Ghost."   
  
Vendis chuckled with the burbling sound of pebbles rolling in water.  "When you mortals get attached to places, you sure can be a handful."   
  
"It's those theatre people," Eden explained, sighing heavily.  "They're so much....  _ more _ than the average mortal.  They do enough shows at the same theatre, they put enough of themselves into every show, and yeah.  Woof. They can get to be a handful. This one, though," she sighed and shook her head. "I went to the box because I'd already done two Sealings on this bastard, Vendis.   _ Two! _  And he was only getting  _ stronger! _ "   
  
"You used asofoetida?"   
  
"You bet your ass I used asofoetida."   
  
"Impressive.  I can see why you used the Box."  Vendis placed the new one on the counter.   
  
"That's one word for it," Eden grumbled as she ran her fingers over the carved wood, using her Focus to check the enchantment.  It was considered a common courtesy in Faerie; Vendis would have been insulted if she didn't.   
  
"You probably  _ would _ phrase it differently, having dealt with it face-to-face, as it were," Vendis burbled with laughter.   
  
"Well, actually," Eden replied, continuing over the faerie trader's guffaws, "kinda, yeah.  I've had stubborn Theatre Ghosts need a box before, but usually just the threat of it and some tasks to do keep them occupied and happy.  This one just seemed bent on...consumption."   
  
The granite face cracked in confusion.  "Consumption? Of what?"   
  
"I don't know," Eden admitted.  "I'm not even sure  _ it _ knew.  It's almost like something else had gotten a hold of it, or was trying to."  She sighed and shrugged. "Regardless, it Felt too dangerous for me to attempt a third, run-of-the-mill Sealing, so I grabbed my Binding Box and a whole lot of moxie and got the job done."   
  
"Well, good on you this time," Vendis praised, "but be cautious.  I don't like the sound of that Theatre Ghost."   
  
"You think there could be more like it?"  Eden tried to think of more ghosts like the one she'd just Bound and destroyed the night before, and tried not to shudder.   
  
"Not necessarily," Vendis replied.  "Just that things like that usually presage even stranger, as opposed to less."   
  
" _ Stranger? _  For  _ Seattle? _ "    
  
The faerie cocked an eyebrow.  "It can happen, my dear." He then turned his attention to the box on the counter.  "Now, let's discuss payment for this Box...."   
  
The price had gone up.  Some of the key components had been getting more difficult for Vendis to come by, making the increase necessary, or so he claimed.  Eden knew he gave her a discount because of her stories, but even then, and with the expected haggling, the purse she used for her Underground purchases was nearly emptied when all was said and done.  Vendis assured her the occasional scarcity of things was common in his parts of Faerie, and that the increase was only temporary. They chatted a little more, and Eden took her leave, knowing that even fae a person trusted could eventually be tempted to take a mortal far away if they lingered too long. They exchanged niceties, Eden tucking the Box away in her satchel, and she took a deep breath as the door to Vendis' shop closed behind her, steeling her focus to find her Way.  The dim blue light returned to the corners of her vision, and she started back to the surface.   
  
She took a curve that she hadn't taken coming down; that was normal, for finding one's way out of Faerie and the Underground.  What was less normal was the man she found standing in the middle of the path, clearly mortal, and in a bad way. His eyes were wild, looking around desperately, with dark circles hanging heavy beneath them.  His blond hair was shaggy and looked like it had only been brushed by his fingers for weeks, and perhaps to his mind, it only  _ had _ been weeks.  His armor and sword left Eden thinking it had probably been much longer than that, however.   
  
When his gaze swung to her, his hazel-gold eyes seemed to look through her for a second, then settled on her face, wariness replacing his thousand-yard stare.  "You there," he called, stumbling slightly towards Eden, sword out. His accent sounded British, and was rough with exhaustion. "You're--you're human, yes?"   
  
"Last I checked, yeah," she confirmed, doing her best to seem nonthreatening.   
  
His eyes narrowed a bit, and Eden remained calm, even with his sword held between the two of them.  "How did you get down here?"   
  
"I walked," Eden replied.  It was best to tell as little as possible without also lying when one was in Faerie, even when speaking to another human.  "How did  _ you _ get down here?"   
  
He bristled a bit, but intelligence flashed in his eyes, giving Eden hope that he wasn't completely mad.  "I walked, as well," he replied.   
  
Eden smirked a little.  "Good answer," she informed him.  "My name's Eden. What's yours?"   
  
He hesitated, but she met his gaze easily while he thought.  "Cullen," he replied after a few moments.   
  
"Alright, Cullen, listen--you look like a man who's been Underground too long.  Now, I know how to find my Way back to the surface; if you want, I can guide you there, help you get your head back together, and help you figure out what you want to do next, you just need to do a couple things for me."   
  
He looked slightly skeptical.  "And what would you need of me?"   
  
"First, put your sword away.  I'm your friend, here--or at least, the closest thing you have to one in this part of Faerie--and it's not going to do you much good to have it out all the time.  If you're worried about the Fae here, I'm reasonably certain I can handle them enough for both of us."   
  
"And the second thing?"   
  
"Once you've put your sword away, you grab on to my shoulder, do not let go, and do not eat or drink anything unless I hand it to you."   
  
"And why should I only trust food and drink handed to me by you?" Cullen asked, all seriousness.   
  
Eden took a slow breath.  A lack of knowledge was what often got mortals trapped in Faerie to begin with; shaming him wouldn't do anyone any good.  "Because my food and drink are of the mortal realms, not the fae, and therefore won't cause you to get trapped here for longer than you think you've been here, which I think may have already happened to you."   
  
"What makes you say that?"   
  
Well, he was certainly sharp for having been in Faerie for gods-only-knew how long.  Eden's curiosity was piqued. She gestured to him. "Well, swords and armor like that aren't very common on the surface.  Most people stick to guns and Kevlar." His eyes narrowed in confusion again, and Eden sighed. "Look, let me at least get you above ground?  It'll help clear your head, and we can figure out where and when you came from, and how best to get you back, if we can. But for now, it's really not wise for mortals to stay in Faerie for too long.  My first offer still stands: put up your sword, take my shoulder, and let me guide you out."   
  
Cullen looked around himself for a few moments, clearly considering the risks of trying to navigate the Underground alone versus trusting the guidance of a stranger.  A scar twitched on the right side of his upper lip as he thought. Soon he sighed and sheathed his sword, reaching out to Eden. "Very well," he said, "I accept your offer.  Please, guide me out of here."   
  
Eden let out a small sigh of relief and took a couple steps forward to take Cullen's hand, smiling kindly into his eyes as she gave it a firm, comforting shake.  "I will be glad to," she informed him, waiting for him to nod before turning her back to the man and placing his hand on her right shoulder. It was as much for the sake of Cullen's peace of mind as it was for the Fae who might have been listening--this man was under Eden's Protection, now.  Any attempts to harm or harass him would, by extension, be an attempt to harm or harass  _ her _ , and she was clearly more capable of protecting herself than he.  Unless he'd made some real enemies here, her presence alone would be enough to ward off the majority of whatever trouble had been dogging him.   
  
"You hungry, thirsty?" she asked as she focused on the blue light on the edges of her vision, making sure it was growing steadily brighter.   
  
"A bit thirsty," Cullen admitted from behind her.   
  
She rummaged in her satchel and pulled out one of the bottles of water she always kept there, popping the top before holding it over her shoulder.  She heard three gulps, and then he paused to breathe. "What have you been eating and drinking down here?" she wondered aloud.   
  
"I ran out of water...about a week ago, I think?  It's hard to say. I've been drinking what I could find in springs and streams and such."   
  
Well, that probably hadn't helped his distorted sense of time, but it likely hadn't hurt as much as accepting water from a 'well-meaning' faerie would have.  "What about food? Have you been foraging?"   
  
"No, I still have some rations left.  I've been eating those, as sparingly as possible."   
  
She looked over her shoulder at him.  "You brought rations for--" she paused, catching herself before saying 'for a trip into Faerie';  she didn't want to say too much down here. "You have rations?"   
  
He nodded out of the corner of her eye.   
  
"Your own?  From before you came down here?"  He nodded twice, once for each question, and Eden paused, coming to a full physical stop.  "May I see them?"   
  
Cullen narrowed his eyes slightly.  "May I ask why?"   
  
"To ensure they weren't tampered with by any fae when you weren't paying attention," Eden explained patiently.   
  
He still didn't look convinced, but Cullen removed his hand from Eden's shoulder long enough to remove a couple items from his own pack and hand them over.  A biscuit of some kind, nearly as hard as a rock, but still definitely bread, as evidenced by the crumbs Eden scratched off with her thumb, and a thick piece of jerky.  She touched her Dispelling ring to each piece, first the steel side, then the silver, and even sniffed the foodstuffs; to her relief and surprise, they were both actually bread and meat, at least in the strictest sense.  She handed the rations back to Cullen.   
  
"Well?" he asked, looking critically at Eden.   
  
She smiled gently.  "Still good, no faerie tampering.  Thanks for indulging me." He nodded and put the rations away, and she wondered what he would have done if she'd found them to be glamoured-up faerie food.  One thing was for sure, Cullen was quite fascinating. He was clearly some kind of soldier, had gone Underground somewhat prepared for an extended period of time, and yet seemed to have almost no knowledge of faerie lore.  She couldn't recognize the heraldry he wore, an upturned sword with four rays rising off it, but that could simply have been a matter of time erasing those marks from most of history. Furthermore, how did a soldier from what looked like the late Renaissance wind up speaking nearly perfect modern English?  And how long had he actually  _ been _ Underground?  If he'd been under for the centuries implied by his clothing, his rations would not have lasted, no matter how well-preserved they were, and the food he'd shown Eden would have been some faerie trick.  But the food had been real, and presumably edible (she was honestly unsure how that biscuit was meant to be consumed without breaking teeth), and Cullen wasn't a gibbering madman, like she would have expected from an unprepared mortal who had spent probably weeks and possibly years Underground.   _ 'Curiouser and curiouser.  We're gonna have a long talk when we get to the Surface.' _   
  
Said journey to the mortal realm above was passed mostly in silence, with Cullen handing over the bottle once he'd emptied it, his hand never straying from its firm grip on Eden's shoulder.  Thankfully, they weren’t too deep in the Underground, and Eden paused at the exit, a concrete arch decorated with ancient Faerie carvings. "Brace yourself," she warned Cullen, "it's gonna be bright out there."  She pushed, with her mind as much as her hand, and opened the archway, guiding her charge into the lowest level of the surface portion of the Market at Pike.    



	2. Chapter 1: Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn what Cullen has been up to since the attack on the Chantry, and he takes an interesting and unexpected trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! Chapter 1! I warned you guys I was a slow writer. You knew this job was dangerous when you took it. :D
> 
> Also, Eden swears pretty casually. If you have a problem with that kind of language, I'm sorry.

**_Chapter 1_ **   
  
  
Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford had been having... quite the year.   
  
He'd really been having quite the year for several years, if he was honest.  Almost every year since the Blight, and Kinloch Hold...   
  
For a short while after the Blight had ended, things had been somewhat peaceful.  He  _ had _ been transferred to Kirkwall, so 'peaceful' there was always a relative term anyway, but now there was tension due to the large number of refugees from Ferelden, fleeing or displaced by the Blight; and no one quite knew what to make of the Qunari, but compared to what was to come... it had been calmer.   
  
Then Knight-Commander Meredith had lost her mind--and he had let it happen.

 

In the aftermath, nobody else was qualified enough to be Acting Knight-Commander while they awaited a decision for their new “official” one.

  
So now he was unofficially in charge of the Templar Order in Kirkwall, or what remained of it.  He had his hands full, trying to run damage control on what Meredith had done in her madness, while maintaining a reasonable Templar presence in the city, and not seem like he was overstepping his bounds, as Meredith had.

 

As a templar, it was Cullen’s duty to guard and look after the mages who stayed in the Circle, and to keep watch for apostates, who lived and practiced their magic outside of the Circle's control.  It was a duty he had always taken quite seriously; he was protecting the common people from the dangers of magic, and the mages from themselves. It allowed him to help the most people he could, and all he’d ever wanted to do when he joined the Templar Order was to help people.

 

Perhaps that was why he had looked the other way for so long when it came to the Champion of Kirkwall.

 

Prior to the Qunari attack on the city, Cullen wasn't sure he would have easily identified Garrett Hawke out of a lineup of potential apostates, and he was certain that was by design.  The easiest way for a mage outside of Chantry protection to  _ remain _ outside of such protection was for them to simply never get too close to Templars, and never get too flashy.  He’d grown accustomed to thinking of Hawke as some kind of mercenary, never questioning the means by which the man and his strange group of friends accomplished their goals.

 

That is, until the Arishok had turned on Kirkwall, determined to raze it to the ground, after three years of unsteady peace.  The Qunari were fierce warriors, and their leader was especially so. Viscount Dumar was a powerful politician, but when the Arishok stormed the Keep, no amount of political might could protect him from the grey-skinned, eight-foot tall warrior king, and Dumar fell to a single blow.   
  
After the Arishok had presented the nobles of Kirkwall with the Viscount’s head and given them the option to surrender Kirkwall, or die with him, Garrett Hawke had been the only person to challenge him.   
  
Garrett Hawke had emerged victorious.

 

As reward for saving Kirkwall, Hawke had been named the city’s Champion, a duty the man thankfully seemed to take seriously.  He also had started to become more bold in the wake of rumors from the nobles who hadn’t managed to flee the chamber before his duel with the Arishok, who whispered that he had openly used magic to fight.  There were now plenty of stories of the Champion hurling lightning from his fingertips, or shooting ice from the “spear” he always carried with him. Cullen never saw any direct spellcasting, of course; but once or twice he thought he caught the barest unnaturally-blue glint against the spear’s blade, and as the Templar’s eyes narrowed slightly, the Champion would meet them, smirk, and for one damnable second, he’d see the Apostate come through, pleased as punch, pulling one over on the Templars again.  

 

Cullen couldn't trust Hawke, not entirely, but he had proven, time and again, that his goals were to keep people safe and do what was right.  As long as Hawke never cast a spell in front of Cullen, the Templar could pretend he didn't know what methods were used to achieve that goal. But Hawke was only one man, and even with his circle of friends assisting, he could only do so much.  There was too much unrest in Kirkwall, especially after the Viscount’s death. Meredith had seen that, and that was at least part of why she began doing what she did.

 

With no Viscount, Kirkwall had begun to flounder, rudderless without official leadership.  Meredith had begun deploying the Templars to provide some stability, attempting to set herself up as Viscount, in the absence of any other qualified individuals who could.  Cullen had been Knight-Captain for several years by that point, and one of Meredith’s most loyal Templars. Sometimes it felt like he alone stood by her when the accusations flew that she was too hard on  mages, and on the edge of sanity.  For years, Cullen told himself that the naysayers simply didn't understand the Knight-Commander’s devotion to the Maker and His Bride.  She was...fervent, yes, but surely that was all. But even he began to doubt when Anders, a former Circle mage who had joined the Mage Underground, attacked Kirkwall’s Chantry, destroying it in a powerful explosion which rained destructive debris on half the city.

 

Meredith called for the Right of Anullment on Kirkwall’s Circle, even though the apostate who was responsible stood before her, and Hawke had refused to let her slaughter innocent mages for another’s crime.  But he also refused to kill Anders, or stop his escape from the city, as they were friends. Cullen sympathized with Hawke, but couldn't let the breach of justice stand. Meredith declared that Hawke was to be arrested, then retreated to gather her forces.  When she and Hawke met again, in her mania, she decided he was to be executed, by her hand. Cullen had finally had enough and protested then--some semblance of justice could be served if Hawke was captured, alive, and tried as some kind of accomplice, but there would be none at all if he was cut down in a fit of rage.  The Knight-Commander had turned on him, and on all the other Templars assembled, raising her sword, and then…

 

The fight had been horrific.  Cullen, the Templars, Hawke, and Hawke’s friends had all banded together to stop Meredith, who fought like a woman possessed--and in a way, she was.  The sword she had acquired a few years before, which was made of what looked like lyrium, except blood-red instead of blue, seemed to be pulsing with light.  And with her every berserk scream, the light seemed brighter, the energy clearly swirling off the blade more malevolent. Somehow, she’d even animated the statues in the courtyard to fight for her.  Eventually, Meredith stood defeated, the red lyrium her sword was made from having somehow… fused with her, turning her into a grotesque statue in the middle of the Gallows courtyard.

 

That was why, nearly a year later, Cullen found himself reading reports and giving orders, giving orders and reading reports, with hardly a moment to leave his desk.  Sometimes he wondered if the paperwork contributed to Meredith’s madness--the endless monotony of words marching across pages, dryly reporting the facts, silent aside from the rustling of parchment against parchment.  It wouldn't have surprised him if it had. He felt himself going more mad with each day the process repeated, especially with the reports he’d been receiving lately.

 

There had been fifteen of them within two weeks--five days into the third week, he now had thirty.  Someone was hiding on the Wounded Coast, doing strange things. Laughter was often heard, stones were thrown, items went missing, and sometimes reappeared--nothing terrible, except the perpetrators were never seen.  It was assumed that it had to be apostates, possibly using blood magic to remain invisible, but if that was the case, why were they only taunting people? Why not attack outright? Several patrols of both Guardsmen and Templars had been sent to try to track down the perpetrators, to no avail.  They always eluded capture, remaining somehow just out of sight, giggling almost like children. And when the search parties went looking for any sign of where they had to have been, they found nothing. No footprints, no damage to the plants where someone would have  _ had _ to have been standing….

 

It was strange, to say the least, though the Templars and Guards had other words for it.

 

Cullen finally had enough.  Whatever this was, it was clearly outwitting the rest of his men, which left him to try to find some answers.  He’d gathered five of his best Templars, outfitted them with camping supplies, rations, and enough lyrium to keep each of them going for weeks, and set off for the Wounded Coast, determined not to return until he’d gotten to the bottom of this mystery.  Whether they were apostates, blood mages, mercenaries, the Dalish, demons, or something else entirely, he would put a stop to it himself.

 

According to the reports and exhaustive follow-up interrogations, the activity seemed to center around the many caves which dotted the Coast.  Laughter and the sound of feet lightly running away would lead whoever was on patrol on as long of a wild goose chase as they could manage, and then suddenly just...stop.  No particular cave, or series of caves, seemed to be the focus; if a patrol was near a cave, the giggling and throwing of stones seemed guaranteed. So the tension began to grow the closer the half-dozen Templars came to the first cluster of caves.  They spent some time patrolling, but no strange activity occurred, and the five other Templars advised Cullen that they should move on.   
  
The second cluster of caves were similarly inactive; the small team hardly seemed to relax because of it, though.  Cullen wasn’t sure what to make of the tension. By their own reports, it didn’t sound like the behavior was anything more than unnerving, yet the muttering behind his back told him otherwise.  When they reached the third cave, he heard a giggle, and each of the Templars reached for their weapons.

 

“Is that the same laughter you’ve all heard?” he asked, and watched each of their helmets bob as they nodded.  “Stay on guard, then. We will figure out the cause of this, even if we need to camp on the Coast until we do.”   
  
A pebble bounced off his helmet, then, as though in direct response to his declaration, and he heard giggling disappear into the depths of the cave behind him.  He gestured to one of the other Templars to join him. “You, with me. You four, stay here, and stay together. Keep an eye on the entrance to the cave. Do not let them taunt you into leaving your post until we return.  We,” he turned to the Templar he’d selected, “will see how far we can track the source inside the cave.” The other Templar hesitated for only a moment, then nodded, following the Knight-Captain into the gaping dark.   
  
Cullen quickly realized why the other Templars and the Guards had been disturbed by the activity once they were inside the cave.  The giggling seemed to come from everywhere. The sound of pebbles skittering underfoot almost seemed deliberately designed to confuse and infuriate.  Many times, he and the Templar paused, trying to determine which labyrinthine path the sound was coming from. And to both of their increasing worry, no physical source of the laughter, footsteps, or thrown pebbles could be found, no matter how they searched or waited.  Cullen was just getting ready to declare that they should turn around and find their way to the surface when the other Templar straightened and looked around. “Did you hear that, Knight-Commander?”   
  
It had been eerily silent for nearly ten minutes; the suddenness of the other Templar’s voice startled Cullen.  “Knight- _ Captain _ ,” he corrected automatically, then continued.  “No, I heard nothing,” he replied, looking around.  “What did you hear, Templar?”   
  
“My name,” he replied, clearly looking around for it.  “Someone’s calling to me--there!” Before Cullen could stop him, the other Templar took off, heading for an old mining shaft which they had yet to investigate.  Cullen tried to follow, but a large stone suddenly rolled between him and the entrance to the path the other Templar had gone down, sealing them off from each other.  Cullen pounded on the stone, calling to the other Templar, even though he knew it was fruitless to try to be heard, and waited to see if perhaps he would hear any activity from his brother-in-arms.   
  
After a few agonizing minutes of silence, Cullen did hear something--a giggle, just as before, but this time, it made his blood run cold.  Not only was it the light laughter, but within it, he heard someone whispering his name. “Culllllen, hee hee hee…. Cullllllen….”   
  
He drew his sword, preparing mentally to smite whatever might have been calling his name.  “Who’s there?” he called, even though he knew it was probably pointless. “Show yourself, and you may find mercy!”   
  
The giggling continued, and if anything, it sounded even more amused by this declaration.  He heard feet scampering off, just around the corner, as it had always sounded. The giggling continued, and with a growl, he followed, straining to hear any sign that he may have been rejoining the other Templar.  For the first time, the laughter and sounds of running seemed to have a clear path, instead of echoing confusingly from all directions, and he followed it unerringly. Whenever he came to a chamber with multiple paths leading off from it, he’d hear more laughter, and continued to give chase.  He thought to turn back a couple times, but realized to his dismay that he could not have found his way back if he’d tried. Then the laughter would resume, he’d hear his name get called again, and he’d find himself continuing the chase, against all his better logic.   
  
Soon, the caves began to shift in appearance; the openings into other chambers were carved with the blocky patterns traditional to dwarven architecture, which he had a passing familiarity with due to the Merchant Guild’s presence in Kirkwall, and blackness seemed to seep from the walls in places.  Lava flowing through clever channels next to once perfectly-paved roads illuminated his way. Somehow, he’d found himself in the Deep Roads, and he was anxious for entirely different reasons now.

 

 Darkspawn had taken over the Deep Roads over a thousand years ago, before the First Blight, and only Grey Wardens explored their depths with apparent impunity now.  The very paths themselves were Tainted, here, and he avoided the seeping blackness, unwilling to risk becoming Tainted, himself. He tightened his grip on his sword, and when he didn’t seem to be moving quickly enough for the mysterious source of the giggling, he’d find himself pelted with pebbles, from which he could find no source, until he began to move again.  He’d eaten some jerky to try to keep himself going, but could not say how long he’d been lost now. Still, the giggling persisted. Still, he heard his name. Still, he moved forward, for what choice did he have now? Occasionally, he rested, but he remained in his armor, and sleep came and went fitfully, even more so than usual.   
  
Through it all, the mysterious giggles led him, guiding him seemingly at random through the Deep Roads, and the only blessing he could think of was that wherever he was being led, he did not once encounter any darkspawn.   
  
Eventually, the signs of former Dwarven inhabitation faded, as did any signs of darkspawn or Taint.  Thick tree roots would form paths, or structures which bore a resemblance to houses. Sometimes the path was hard and seemed carved from solid stone; other times, it was soft, like the most fertile soil, and he’d struggle to find purchase with his feet.  He passed through sandy paths, paths made almost completely of pebbles and small stones he couldn’t recognize, and illumination came from strange plants and the occasional lantern with no natural light source he could discern. The giggling and calling of his name became less frequent, just enough to occasionally push him forward through his exhaustion.    
  
He had no idea how much time had passed--he hadn’t seen the sun since he’d entered the cave with the other Templar--but it had to have been at least a week.  Sometimes he passed through strange, subterranean cities, unlike anything he’d ever seen before, and he’d watch as some of the most bizarre creatures he could ever have imagined went about their lives as he hid.  They bore a passing resemblance to the humans, elves, and dwarves in Thedas, but aside from generally walking upright, and usually possessing two eyes and ears, that was where it ended. He saw colors he never would have imagined, people seemingly made of stone, or feathers, or simply shifting shades of shimmering light, all going about their lives, same as if he’d been patrolling Kirkwall’s Hightown market.  It all would have seemed so very normal, if it hadn’t been so bizarre.

 

Eventually, he stumbled out onto a path in one such community, with massive tree roots reaching down from above, forming nooks and crannies into which homes had been tucked.--it seemed blessedly clear, thank the Maker--and found himself face-to-face with the oddest sight yet: a woman, her hair a mass of golden curls, wearing pants of a strange, dark blue material, boots that came just over her ankles, and a satchel.  She stopped, going quite still, the way one would when faced with a strange dog. He kept his sword between them, at first, uncertain what to make of her.

 

“You there,” he called, his voice rough from Maker-only-knew how long without use, “you’re--you’re human, yes?”   
  
“Last I checked, yeah,” she replied.  Her accent sounded Dwarven. What human had a Dwarven accent?

 

He narrowed his eyes.  Not only the accent, but how did someone so  _ normal _ -looking wind up in this place?  “How did you get down here?” he asked.

 

“I walked,” she replied, as though it were obvious.  She tilted her head slightly as she regarded him, seemingly unthreatened by his sword.  “How did  _ you _ get down here?”   
  
Two could play at that game, he figured, frowning slightly.  “I walked, as well,” he informed her.   
  
She smiled.  “Good answer,” she replied, and he stuffed down his surprise.  “My name’s Eden. What’s yours?”

 

A part of him wanted to resist.  He wasn’t used to being the one to answer questions, but then again, he was wholly unfamiliar with everything that had happened to him since he’d entered the cave on the Wounded Coast, and this woman, Eden, seemed far more prepared and confident in this place than he.  Telling her his name couldn’t hurt. “Cullen,” he replied simply.

 

He barely understood what Eden told him next, but her smile was kind, and she seemed to understand what she meant by “the Underground,” “Faerie,” “Kevlar,” and “guns” well enough.  And though he was reluctant to sheathe his sword, her offer to guide him out was too good to refuse. She shook his hand, placed it on her shoulder, and gave him fresh water from her pack, contained in a strange, clear material that crinkled loudly in his hand.  She asked to inspect his rations, and he watched, curious, as she scratched at the hardtack, sniffed the jerky, and touched a simple ring on her left hand to both items twice. Whatever that was meant to prove, she seemed satisfied, returning the rations to him, and resumed leading him out, following a path that had no rhyme or reason to him, but seemed clear to her, thankfully rising ever upwards.   
  
Soon, they came to a strange door, made of plain, impossibly-smooth stone, framed with an arch that was decorated with carvings of leafy vines, and what could have been words, though if it was, the flowing script was wholly unfamiliar to Cullen.  Eden turned to look over her shoulder at him, her grey eyes still kind. “Brace yourself,” she warned him, “it’s gonna be bright out there.” Then she placed her hand on the smooth stone, and he felt magic flow out of her as she pushed, sliding the stone to the side, and they walked through the open doorway.   
  
It  _ was _ bright, as she had warned, and Cullen blinked owlishly, his left hand rising to shield his eyes as Eden turned and closed the door behind them.  He felt the magic tickle at the back of his mind as she did, then it faded. When he turned to look where they had come from, he saw more of the strange, impossibly-smooth stone, uniform grey in color, and no sign of the doorway they had passed through, aside from some cracks forming the vague shape of an arch.  More of the smooth stone formed the floor, and pillars rose up, perfectly square, still apparently some kind of stone, but white. Signs pointed upwards, but he couldn’t read the blocky writing on them, either, though it was different from the script which had framed the other doorway. Long, rectangular lanterns of some sort were affixed to the ceiling, providing a light which burned whiter and more evenly than he had ever seen.  It didn’t even sputter a little, and Cullen felt no hint of magic from it whatsoever.   
  
“Careful,” Eden interrupted his observations gently, and he looked sharply to her.  “Staring too long at the lights’ll damage your eyes, just like if you stare at the sun.”   
  
“How--how do they--”  He glanced up at them again.  “It’s not magic,” he finally managed.   
  
“Not strictly, no,” Eden replied.  “It’s electricity. Lightning, harnessed by mundane means, which is used to power just about everything, nowadays.  Much cleaner than gas or fire, and generally much safer.”   
  
“How is that not magic?” he asked.  “Only mages can harness the power of lightning.”   
  
She grinned.  “Mages can summon the lightning, yes, and direct it and bend it somewhat to their will, but this,” she gestured vaguely to the strange lanterns, “is pure mundane ingenuity.”   
  
“You--you’re a mage,” he observed shortly.  “Can you? Summon lightning?”   
  
“Not something I’ve ever tried,” she replied evenly.  “I’ve focused on other talents.” She tilted her head.  “You can tell I use magic?”   
  
“I am a Templar,” he replied, putting as much authority as he dared into his voice.  He would have said more, but he found himself growing tired and slightly dizzy, now that they were out of that strange place, and it was hard to focus much beyond that.

 

Eden’s face had darkened slightly at his declaration.  “Ah, of course,” she said simply. “Strange place for me to find a Templar, you know--down in a part of Faerie few mortals can reach.  I hope you don’t mind if I ask how you got there.”   
  
“As I said earlier,” Cullen replied, “I walked.”   
  
“Mm.”  Her grey eyes remained sharp.  “Well, Templar Cullen, if you don’t--”   
  
“Knight-Captain,” he corrected her automatically.   
  
She paused.  “I--what?” she asked, surprised.

 

“My title is Knight-Captain, not ‘Templar’,” he elaborated.

 

She blinked a couple of times, then let out a breath.  “Right, then. Knight-Captain, if you don’t mind being led about by a mage, I can think of a few things which will help you get grounded again.  I promise I’ll be helpful. I’m not one of the bad types.” The twist to her mouth as she said that left her concern obvious, but unsaid:  _ ‘I hope you’re not one of the bad types, either.’ _

 

“I would appreciate that greatly,” Cullen replied, trying not to sway as he felt his head swim.  He apparently failed, as he felt himself steadied by small, but strong hands on either of his shoulders.  He opened his eyes and saw Eden standing before him, concern clear on her face, despite the suspicion which had been there only moments before.   
  
“Returning to the Surface from the Underground can be rough on even the best of us,” she explained, looking directly in his eyes, like a Healer searching for a concussion, still holding him steady.  “Are you going to be alright?”

 

“Yes, I’m fine,” he insisted, but he didn’t think she believed him for a moment.

 

“Come on,” she instructed, pulling away from him once he felt a little more steady.  “I know what our first stop will be. Grab onto my shoulder. The Market gets pretty crowded.  I’d hate for you to get lost, Knight-Captain.” He couldn’t tell if she was mocking him with that last or not.  Under normal circumstances, he would have been certain she was, but wherever he had found himself, it certainly wasn’t Kirkwall, and whatever kind of mage she was, she seemed far unlike any apostate he’d encountered before--or Circle mage, for that matter.  Despite his rapidly-growing fatigue and dizziness, or perhaps because of it, he decided the only sane option, for now, was to continue to trust her. He gripped her right shoulder from behind again, and let the golden-haired mage guide him up ramps and stairwells made of more of the smooth stone.   
  
The Market was enclosed, which made Cullen curious, and seemed to be several stories tall, all made of the strange stone.  As they made their way up, more people crowded the walkways, which were paved with small tiles. On one floor, the tiles formed simple patterns in green and white; on another, they were just a plain brown.  He saw all manner of shops--jewelry glittered in a number of windows, books old and new in others. One store was mostly open and specialized in bags of all sizes and colors. Each level was increasingly full of people, most of whom stared openly at Cullen’s armor.  There were plenty of signs, with more of the blocky writing he had seen upon entering this place, but it was still indecipherable to him. He maintained his grip on Eden’s shoulder and let her be his guide.   
  


The top level was still enclosed, but plenty of windows allowed natural light in.  This seemed to be the level for more temporary shops--exotic flowers and strange foods distracted him, and he nearly crashed into Eden when she paused to allow a large fish to be tossed across her path.  She patted a large, bronze statue of a pig as they passed it by, then led him to a cobblestone road, looking about to navigate the crowds pushing around it, and the large metal carriages that slowly passed through.  They reminded him of some kind of dog skull--though the designs and colors varied greatly, they all consisted of a blocky center, with doors and windows, a long, lowered section in front, from which there came strange rumblings, and a shorter, similarly-lowered section behind.   
  
“Watch for the cars,” Eden called over her shoulder.  “Even down here, drivers think they own the road. Getting hit by one of those, even at a low speed, can fuck you up.”  She hurried across the road to a raised path, made of more of the strange grey stone-- _ Maker’s breath, where did they find so much of it? _ \--which seemed to be designated for people walking.  Moving was helping Cullen keep from feeling too dizzy, but he couldn’t deny that the longer he found himself back above ground, the more difficult it became to stay balanced.  He adjusted his grip on Eden’s shoulder, just to be sure he wouldn’t fall. He tried to take in the buildings around him, and was glad he did--he had never seen anything like them before.  Though there was a steep hill ahead of them, the buildings still rose higher than even the Kinloch Hold Circle Tower. That building had been about five stories tall, and rested on a island in the middle of Lake Calenhad--these buildings dwarfed it, easily four or five times over, or more.  Glass covered most of them from from the ground floor all the way to the highest point, sectioned off with smooth, dark metal. There were other buildings made of gray stone, or brown, with details carved into the buttresses, and those seemed to be only as tall as the Circle Tower, but the others...he had to be dreaming.  Buildings couldn’t get that large. Not even in Kirkwall, with its marvels of old Tevinter engineering, had he ever seen buildings so tall.   
  
He slowed as he observed the towering buildings in awe, and Eden stopped.  “You alright?” she asked, looking between him and the buildings he was gaping at.   
  
“I--I’m fine,” he replied, blinking hard as a wave of dizziness washed over him again.  He returned his gaze to ground level. “How do they make such tall buildings?”   
  
“Physics, computers, and architecture nerds,” she replied easily.  “That, and several years of disrupting the already abysmal downtown traffic to get it done.  See over there?” She pointed to a tall building in the distance, with a strange arm sticking off of it, the sky visible behind the geometric pattern filling it.  Green and red lights flashed on the end. “That’s an industrial crane. They actually put those on top of the buildings as they’re building them, so they can lift supplies from the ground to where they need to go.  It’s crazy. We got all this magic in the world, and mundanes still find ways to create wonders of their own.” He stared at the “crane” for a few moments, then felt a tug on his arm. Eden looked up at him, then took a position next to him, her hand gripping his arm through his armor.  “We’re almost to where I want to take you. Lean on me if you’re feeling dizzy. Come on.” She started walking, giving him no choice but to comply and follow--and to his embarrassment, he did find himself leaning on her a little. Feeling the sun on his face, weak as it was through the clouds, for the first time in weeks had helped him somewhat, but the fatigue was growing with each passing moment.   
  
It took him a couple moments to realize that the next stop they had come to was apparently their destination.  He still couldn’t read the sign, but the heavenly smells coming from within made it clear--they were at a restaurant of some kind.  Eden paused to look at him, then guided Cullen inside, where she was greeted immediately by a smiling young woman in a plain white shirt, black pants, and a black apron.   
  
“Eden!  Good to see you!  Are you on a job?”  She looked between them as she grabbed two menus.   
  
“Sort of,” Eden replied.  “Found this guy wandering the Underground, alone.  Doing my part to get him grounded again. We’ll definitely be needing cakes and ale to start, and a fairly private booth?”   
  
“You got it,” the young woman chirped pleasantly.  “Right this way,” she turned, her long, dark ponytail swinging, and Cullen followed the two women through a large, mostly-empty dining room.  The few diners already seated looked up at the conspicuous clanking of his armor. The hostess paused in a corner, where most of the light--more of that non-magical electricity--didn’t seem to penetrate, just enough to see the booth and table, and Eden slid into one side, murmuring, “Thanks, Emily,” as Cullen took the seat opposite her, and the hostess placed the menus in front of them.   
  
Cullen looked over the menu, but gave it up as a bad job within moments--it was written in more of that unfamiliar, blocky lettering.  Instead, he focused on the materials it was made of. The paper was thick and sturdy, and encased in a tough, clear material that was similar to the container the water Eden had given him was in.  It folded in thirds, with a leather-like material joining the sections. He rubbed at the different materials with his thumb, taking in the smoothness of each of them. He wasn’t sure what to make of anything.  Perhaps he had died in the caves, and this was some kind of strange, torturous part of the Void. Granted, the Void was supposed to be absolute nothingness, but it was far preferable to think that than to believe that he was trapped in the Fade, or perhaps under the control of a blood mage.   
  


He glanced at Eden at that last thought as she looked over her menu.  Just because he hadn’t seen her use any blood magic didn’t mean she wasn’t one.  If he had learned anything in Kirkwall, it was that you could never trust a mage by their appearance alone.  Though it would certainly have been quite the trick, if she’d managed to curse him with some blood-fueled spell, confusing and leading him to this place long before he’d even seen her.   
  
This place...he didn’t even know what this place was called.   
  
The mage looked up, almost on cue, and must have seen something in his face.  “Something on your mind?” she asked him.   
  
He pressed his lips together for a moment.  “I was realizing that I don’t know where I am,” he explained.   
  
She chuckled.  “Oh, buddy,” she muttered.  “That’s normal, if you spent a while in Faerie.  It can mess with your memories. Generally, you’re in the city of Seattle.  Specifically, you’re in Tornincasa, the best Italian restaurant in downtown, and an absolutely essential stop after any exit from the Underground, in my humble opinion.”  She looked up and smiled broadly at Emily as the young woman approached the table. “And this is half the reason why.”   
  
“Aww, are you talking about me?” Emily asked as she settled a basket covered with a plain white tea towel and two glass mugs full of steaming white liquid before them, beaming.   
  
Eden grinned.  “Oh, of course.  Also, the cakes and ale.”   
  
“Oh yeah,” Emily nodded.  “The cakes and ale are the best.  I don’t think anybody else does them, to be honest.”   
  
Eden shook her head.  “Nope. This is the only place in Seattle to get any, unless you know someone who cooks.”   
  
“Exactly.”  The hostess smiled.  “Everyone loves them.  When I’m having a rough day, sometimes it’s all I’ll have for lunch.  Fixes me right up, and gives me the energy to make it the rest of my shift.”  She looked between Eden and Cullen. “Speaking of, are you guys ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?”   
  
“A few more minutes, please,” Eden replied, and Emily twirled off.  The mage wasted no time pulling open the tea towel to reveal a small pile of biscuits, grabbing one off the top and biting directly into it.  For a moment, Cullen watched as the tension melted from the woman’s face, and she let out a blissful sigh through her nose as she chewed and swallowed.  When her eyes opened, she almost looked like a brand-new person. “Go ahead,” she told Cullen, gesturing to the basket. “You need it more than me.”   
  
He hesitated, then slowly reached out and took a biscuit, biting directly into it as Eden had, trying in vain to catch some crumbs as they fell.  Perhaps it was his hunger and fatigue, but he had never tasted anything better. It wasn’t too dry, but neither was it too moist, and there was a hint of salt on the top which brought out the flavor of the simple bread.  He swallowed, then took an experimental sip of the white liquid. It most certainly did not taste like any ale he’d had before. Unless he missed his guess, it was milk, sweetened slightly, with a couple spices he could not place enhancing the flavor.  He didn’t realize his own eyes had slid shut until he opened them and saw Eden smiling gently at him. “Feeling better?”   
  
“Yes, I…”  He blinked at the food before him.  How did something so simple provide such comfort?  “This is unlike any cake or ale I’ve tried before.”   
  
“That’s because it’s really ‘cakes and ale’ in name only, if you go by the strictest definition,” Eden explained.  “It’s a very old-school, traditional grounding meal for after magical workings or trips into Faerie. Anything bread-like, preferably with salt, and something to drink.  You can even use plain bread and water, if you don’t have anything else.” She took a sip of her drink. “It’s grounding, for a mortal. Reasserts our connection to the earth.  Tornincasa’s does the best, though. These biscuits are some of my favorites, and the milk is perfection. I’ve tried making it at home before, but I can’t get the honey and cinnamon and nutmeg balanced the way they do.”   
  
He’d taken another bite of his biscuit and sip of his milk as she was speaking.  “So it’s just ‘cakes and ale’ because of tradition?”   
  
“Yeah,” she confirmed.  “Tradition isn’t always the best reason for something, but I let it slide in this case.  Whenever I come back from the Underground, I stop here for at least a basket of the cakes and ale, even if I don’t feel like I need it.  Always helps a person feel more real.”   
  
More real… The more Cullen ate, the more that description seemed accurate.  The dizziness was slowly fading, the fatigue becoming more tolerable, though he felt himself growing hungrier.  Perhaps he’d miscalculated how much time he’d spent in this Underground. Before he knew it, he had finished his biscuit, and had taken another.   
  
Eden had closed her menu, and was looking at Cullen, her head cocked slightly to one side, as before.  “Have you decided on what you want to eat?” she asked. “You’ve hardly looked at your menu.”   
  
Cullen took a sip of his milk to try to cover his slight embarrassment.  “I…I’m afraid I can’t read it,” he admitted reluctantly. “These letters are entirely unfamiliar to me.”   
  
“Hmm.”  Eden watched him for a moment, then reached for her menu.  “Well, you definitely need more than cakes and ale. Would you mind if I ordered for you?  Maybe read off some of the options and let you decide?”   
  
He wanted to say no.  He wanted to resist needing assistance from a strange mage.  He still wasn’t sure what to make of her, or mages in general, after everything he had seen, and if she knew what he had been through, what he had thought and felt about her kind over the past seven years, he was sure she wouldn’t be treating him so kindly, even with her clear suspicion.  But he was hungry, almost starving, and the thought of a good meal after subsisting on hard tack and jerky for the past Maker knows how long was nearly impossible to resist. “...thank you, that would be very kind of you,” he finally murmured in reply.   
  
She seemed unfazed by his reticence as she opened her menu again.  “No problem. So, first things first, are there any foods you  _ can’t _ eat, for any reason?  Religious, personal preference, allergic, whatever?”   
  
“Ah, no,” he replied, shaking his head.   
  
“Great.  That’ll make this easier.”  She started reading off items from the menu, but he soon found himself overwhelmed with the options.  Between the dizziness, his fatigue, and his hunger, all he could think was,  _ ‘I just need to eat something, anything.’ _  She seemed to notice, and soon stopped.  “Here, how about this,” she suggested. “The salami platter.  It’s technically an appetizer. Salami, cheese, apples, and pears, sliced and ready to eat; great for someone trying to recover after a long time without a decent meal.”   
  
“That sounds fine, thank you,” he replied.

  
Her head remained slightly tilted as she watched him, but if she had anything to say, it was disrupted by a server approaching their table.  Eden placed their order, including some water for both of them, and her thoughtful, steady gaze returned to him. They sat in silence for a couple awkward minutes, Cullen quietly munching on his biscuit and sipping the warm milk, until he finally broke the silence.  “You keep watching me,” he observed. “Is there something on  _ your _ mind?”   
  
She smiled slightly.  “Oh, plenty. But I think it can wait until you’ve gotten some proper food in you, first.”   
  
“Why?” he asked before he could stop himself.   
  
“Well, I’ve generally found that most people don’t like to answer questions on an empty stomach,” she replied matter-of-factly.  “Makes ‘em testy.”   
  
“You think I’ll answer any questions of yours?” he snipped, flushing almost immediately at his testy tone.   
  
“If you want my help, you will,” she returned evenly, the amusement on her face briefly vanishing.  “And before you ask,  _ Knight-Captain _ , you’re probably going to want my help because, for starters, that’s no title any Templar  _ here _ has ever held, to my knowledge.  You’re clearly  _ some _ kind of fish out of water, and I’m probably the only person who can throw you back in the lake.  So, you can keep being wary of me, or you can trust that I’ve got the best of intentions for you.”   
  
“Why should you?” he asked.  “It’s clear that you’re not fond of Templars; your reaction to my saying that earlier made that plain.  Why would you bother aiding me any further?”   
  
She blinked, surprise and confusion warring on her face.  “Because I’m the one who found you in the Underground, of course,” she replied, as though it was obvious.   
  
“What does that have to do with anything?” he growled, irritably.   
  
Again, her head tilted slightly.  “It’s just...it’s just what mortals  _ do _ for each other, when it comes to being in Faerie,” she explained.  “It’s...I don’t know, it’s an unwritten, unspoken, understood rule: it doesn’t matter who they are, what they’ve done, or whether you know them or not; mortals in Faerie help each other.  It wouldn’t even matter if I knew you and hated you beyond all reason; I would have helped you get out, and get back to the surface. Even if they’re your worst enemy, you don’t leave a person in Faerie to suffer or die.  If you want to be rid of a person that badly, get them to the surface again, then find normal, mortal ways to off them--a knife in the back, a hitman, run ‘em over with your car, whatever. But you don’t leave a fellow mortal behind in Faerie, if you can help them.  It’s just not  _ done. _ ”   
  
“Why not?”  His testiness had abated, somewhat, but he was still unsure.   
  
“Because nobody really knows  _ exactly _ what happens to mortals who get lost in Faerie,” she replied, suddenly serious, “but everyone who deals with the Fae on any level agrees: it’s probably not great.  Folks just...disappear, and even the more trustworthy faeries refuse to say what becomes of them.” The guarded, haunted look on Eden’s face kept him from pressing that issue further.   
  
“Why would you trust them if they keep secrets like that from you?”   
  
“They don’t  _ always _ keep secrets,” she replied.  “Just big ones. Or whatever they decide isn’t important for mortals to know.”  She shrugged. “If you’re careful, you can earn some of that secret knowledge, but one must always tread carefully with the Fae.  Old, old, traditional knowledge states: ‘Take neither food nor drink whilst in Faerie.’ That one, we know the reason behind. Something in faerie food causes mortals to think and feel as though they’ve spent only a short while Underground, but when they return, they will find that anywhere from months to years, decades even, have passed.  So that’s known and understood, but what the faeries  _ do _ with that stolen time, and what the purpose is behind tricking mortals into staying, is unclear.  So far, none of them have told  _ me _ , anyway.”   
  
“Is there a reason they would tell you, and not other mortals?” he asked.  “Is it because you’re a mage?”   
  
The faintly amused smile returned.  “There’s a reason, alright,” she replied, “but that’s not important right now.  It’s certainly not just because I use magic.” She sipped her milk, then added, “By the way, magically-gifted folks ‘round here prefer the term ‘witch’.  You’ll get even more odd looks if you keep calling me ‘mage’, especially if the wrong people hear.”   
  
He frowned slightly.  “And who would be the ‘wrong kind of people’?”   
  
“I’ll tell you if it becomes pertinent,” she informed him.  “For now, our focus really ought to be figuring out what’s going on with you, and what we’re going to do about it.”   
  
“‘We’?”  He felt his frown deepen.  “You’ve helped me get out of that ‘Underground’, as per the unspoken obligation, and you’re feeding me.  Surely you’ve done all that’s required of you, morally.”   
  
She shrugged.  “If I was a normal mortal, with a normal job, and a normal life, sure.  But I’m not, and even if I was, I’d still want to help you as fully as I can.”  She sighed softly. “Look, can’t you just accept that someone is willing to help you out?  Why the stubbornness?”   
  
“If I knew more about you, perhaps I’d be less stubborn,” he replied.  “As it is, all I know is that you’re some kind of mage--witch--and you first appeared in a place that…”  He hesitated. “...a place that was entirely unlike anything I have ever seen or heard about. For all I know, you’re actually some kind of demon or blood mage, playing with my mind for your own amusement.”   
  
Eden’s face suddenly hardened.  “Well, there’s certainly some that would call me ‘demon’, but I promise you, I’m not playing with your mind, not even a little, and I wouldn’t, even if I knew how or had any desire to.  And magic fuelled by blood is hard to do without violating the Rede.”   
  
“And what is the Rede?” Cullen queried.   
  
“‘An’ it harm none, do what thou wilt,’” Eden intoned, holding Cullen’s gaze with an intensity that briefly had him worried for his physical well-being.  “Meaning, magic can be used to accomplish anything a person wants, so long as absolutely no one is harmed in the the working  _ or _ the result.  Awfully hard to get blood without hurting someone, even if they give their full consent.”  The stiff way she took her next sip of milk made it clear that Cullen’s implication had offended the witch.  He found himself feeling a bit ashamed. Clearly, he was not in the best state of mind to be having this kind of discussion.   
  
“...I apologize, if I offended you,” he murmured, mollified.  “I didn’t mean to say--I am not in my right mind, at this moment.  You have offered me nothing but kindness, and I have given you nothing but suspicion in return.  I should be more grateful.”   
  
“You should,” she agreed, “but it’s clear you’ve been through a lot.  Apology accepted, so long as you promise never to call me ‘demon’ or accuse me of illicit magic without reason again.”   
  
‘Without reason’.  He could work with that stipulation--or at least try.  “I promise.”   
  
“Good.”  Some of the frostiness had come off the edges of her voice, but it was clear that she was still somewhat upset.  Thankfully for both of them, their food arrived, breaking the awkward silence between them, giving them both something else to focus on.

 

The platter set before Cullen certainly looked inviting--the sliced meat was rolled into small tubes, and the cheese cut into long rectangles, the same length as the slices of pear and apple.  After debating for a moment, he picked up his fork and speared one of each. The flavors complemented each other well, and despite his general unease at his current situation, he found it soothing.  He had finished a couple more combined rolls before he realized it, and found that with each bite, reality seemed to be reasserting itself. It was still difficult to believe that this  _ was _ reality, but everything felt more solid the longer he sat and ate, and he had to admit that perhaps this wasn’t some strange dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to RangerGiselle for being my very patient beta! And also thanks to Gabe of the Many Names for being my non-DA-fan-beta for reading this and being so enthusiastic about it. <3 You guys are the best!

**Author's Note:**

> The prologue is definitely much shorter than the chapters are going to be, but I hope this was enough to whet your appetite and set the stage for the rest of the story. Many many thanks to RangerGiselle for agreeing to be my beta for this and helping me find snags in the flow. Thank you all for reading!


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